Nic a’ Préachán
by Aoife129
Summary: He stood looking over Gemma's shoulder at the wiggly bundle in her arms...his memory strayed to years ago as he looked down on another baby: a brand new little girl with her mother's hair and his big mouth. That was before he'd received the scars ...
1. Chapter 1

Nic a' Préachán 

**A/N: Though specifically crafted based on careful observation of certain characters, this is technically an Alternate Universe story since I doubt this storyline will ever appear on the show (which I don't own in any way, shape or form). For the sake of ease, I've given names to the unknown Tacoma charter members. If we ever learn any of their actual names on the show, I'd be more than happy to revise this accordingly.**

**For the fraternity mentioned in this, I used a combination of letters that is not known to exist. It is not used as a statement about fraternities in general (I have several friends who belong to various fraternities), but simply as a way of identifying one of the characters.**

**Also, any MCs referenced either exist only on the show (designed specifically by Kurt Sutter so as not to offend existing MCs) or are based on MCs I have had contact with but have changed the names of out of respect for the clubs and their members. **

--Chapter 1--

Her shaking fingers groped for the button on her pocket as she stumbled through the yard. The toe of her boot dipped into a hole, pitching her forward. She whimpered as she hit the ground but desperately tried to keep quiet. Frantically, she pulled the phone from the pocket of her skirt and lifted it to her face. Her vision was blurring; she didn't have much time. Finally, her clumsy left thumb managed to open a text message and type, "Sos pmd." She gritted her teeth against the pain and pushed the green "send" button, and then everything went black.

_She stood looking at her new room, already seeing the potential. She had four years from this moment, less if she could manage. She'd be getting a degree in Psychology. Technically it was something she could get at a school closer to home, but she thought she'd like a change of scenery. As she looked at all the boxes, she sighed. "Maybe this was a bad idea."_

_"Maybe what was a bad idea?" _

_She turned around to find a young blond woman. "Leavin' home."_

_"Oh, everybody says that," the girl laughed. "You're not gonna be one of those spoiled roommates who's homesick every night and doesn't know how to do her own laundry are you?"_

_"Homesick, maybe," she admitted. "But I've been doing my own laundry since I was eight."_

_The blond girl set down the box in her arms and held out her hand. "I'm Kara."_

_"They call me Spitfire," she replied, shaking the other girl's hand._

As he bent over the pool table and lined up his shot, Happy's pocket started vibrating. He dropped his head and sighed, "Dammit." He stood up and pulled the infernal contraption from his jeans to find that he had one new message. "This had better be good, Spitfire; you know we're getting ready for church." He flipped open the phone and accepted the message. "What the hell?"

"What's up?" EC asked.

"Something's wrong with her, but I don't understand."

"What's it say?"

"Sos pmd . . . Anybody got any ideas?"

"Pre Menstrual Disorder?" came the reply from the prospect. Everyone within earshot turned to look at him like he was insane. "Or not." The group returned to thinking, and a few seconds later another thought occurred to Crash. "Hey, what about Pi Mu Delta?" he offered, more cautiously.

"What?" Happy had no idea what Crash was talking about.

"Pi Mu Delta . . . it's a fraternity near campus."

"Spitfire doesn't go to frat parties," EC clarified.

"But what if she did?"

"You know the way?" Happy asked, willing to accept any kind of explanation of where the girl might be.

"Yeah."

"Then let's go, Brother."

_In simple jeans and a T-shirt, she maneuvered around the floor, passing beers to the men in Reaper cuts. Her red hair hung loose, covering half of her face every time she turned her head. Most of the women in the room gave her odd looks, wondering why she wasn't dressed as scantily as they, wondering what she was even doing there. The Tacoma chapter of the Sons of Anarchy had invited their neighbors, the Crooked Spokes, over for a party. Plenty of the men who weren't used to seeing her eyed her as she went past, but none made a pass at her. They, too, were at a loss as to her position here. Without hesitating, she carried a cold, brown bottle over to Happy and exchanged it for his empty one. "You're 'mazin', Spitfire," he slurred, kissing the top of her head._

_"Yeah, yeah," she replied with a smile before weaving her way back toward the bar. It was hard work being the sober one at these parties._

The two men sped through the night, not in the least concerned with getting pulled over. When they reached the house, Happy threw his kickstand down and jumped off, making a pissed off bee-line for the door. He pushed it open and bellowed, "Spitfire?!" The drunken college students were stunned at first, then laughed, thinking he was an idiot. Pushing past the bubbly, inebriated youths, he made his way through the house, but she was nowhere to be found. Eventually he walked up to a game of beer pong and swept his hand across it, knocking over the rack of cups sitting on the edge of the table.

"Aw, Dude, what the hell?" one of the players objected.

"Now that I have your attention, I'm looking for a girl--5 foot two, buck-forty, red hair. Who's seen her?" The anger in his voice warned not to mess with him. "Come on, guys, attitude like a cat in a sprinkler . . . Where is she?!"

After a long pause, during which the sloshed hamsters of their brains tried running sideways in their wheels, one girl slurred, "You mean that girl in the back yard?" Then she laughed. "She's so wasted." His goal in mind, Happy headed out the door and around the house. He found a form wearing tall brown motorcycle boots, a camouflage skirt, and a brown t-shirt passed out in the grass. Her cell phone was still open in her left hand.

"Oh, Spitfire," he sighed as he moved to flip her over. Kneeling on the ground, his eyes caught a red stain on her phone that seemed to come from her hand. Gently, he rolled her onto her back. "Shit." The front of her was nearly covered in blood, oozing from a cut on her face as well as several others on her arms and torso. Lightly tapping her other cheek he called, "Hey, Spitfire. Come on, Baby, let's go; wake up. Come on, I need you to look at me, let's go." He shook her a little to emphasize his point. "Sorcha!" Her eyes opened, and she sucked in a breath that made her cough. But at least she was alive. Her hand grabbed his shirt trying to hold onto anything solid. She cried out in pain through clenched teeth. "I know, Baby, I know." He pulled her to his chest and slid an arm underneath her legs. With a little difficulty, he managed to get to his feet. It wasn't that she was the heaviest person he'd ever carried by any means, but she was wet from the blood, and the grass was wet under his feet, which made for less than ideal circumstances to have to lift her from that awkward squatting position.

What was even more awkward was trying to hold her on the bike. She couldn't just ride pillion like she usually did because he couldn't count on her to have the strength to hold onto him, couldn't guarantee she wouldn't fly off around a corner. So he sat her on the gas tank and cradled her between his arms while he operated the handle bars. It wasn't the best of situations, but it worked.

_He stood looking over Gemma's shoulder at the wiggly bundle in her arms. Abel was a fighter, to be sure. He smiled, his memory straying to years ago as he looked down on another baby: a brand new little girl with her mother's hair and his big mouth. That was before he'd received the scars on his face, before he'd had to bury his wife, before he learned what it was like to raise a redheaded teenage girl who also shared his temper._

"Okay," Clay sighed. "I'll look into it, but we're gonna need some info on these guys. I'm not going into this blind."

"I can have background checks done by Monday," Juice offered.

"Good." Shifting in his seat, Clay sat forward, leaning his arms on the large wooden table. This week Jury from the Indian Hills charter was joining the usual group of Clay, Jax, Bobby, Juice, Piney, Opie, Chibs and Tig for church. They were almost finished with the usual meeting when someone's phone started singing from the cigar box on the table outside the doorway. Everyone froze; phones weren't allowed at church. Eyes darted around the table, and heads moved, nervously seeking the culprit. All except Chibs, who went white. "That yours?" Clay asked, gritting his teeth.

"Clay, that's Sorcha's ring," he explained, looking at the older man nervously.

Clay's eyes narrowed. "She should know better."

"She does." Sensing the anxiety in Chibs's voice, Clay nodded his head in the direction of the noise.

"Okay, pick it up." Chibs jumped from his seat and grabbed the phone, flipping it open.

"Yeah?"

"Chibs?" a scratchy male voice asked.

"Who the hell es thes?"

"Chibs, it's Happy. I'm at Tacoma General; I just brought Spitfire into the emergency room. They say she'll be okay, but I think you should get up here as soon as you can."

"Are ya callin' from her phone?" Chibs asked, his mind whirling.

"Yeah. I figured you'd pick up if I did."

"Ya said Tacoma General?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'll be there as soon 's I can." He clapped the phone shut and headed back into the chapel. The whole table looked expectantly up at him. "Sorcha's in the emergency room."

"Jesus," Jax exclaimed. "What the hell happened?"

"Don't know," Chibs shrugged.

"Take whoever you want," Clay offered. "We can manage to spare a couple of guys for _her_." Chibs nodded his thanks and then looked back and forth between the two legacies.

"Jackie-boy, Ope, wha' d'ya say? Ya wanna come weth me ta get yer sester?"

_An unspoken sentiment passed through the club as they voted on what to do about the rape of young Tristan Oswald. Chibs closed his eyes, not believing what he was hearing Tig say. "We got a 200k deficit hanging over our heads; do we really, really want to be out there playing some pro-bono lone ranger?"_

_None of them could believe it. They knew Tig had a history of sexual assault, but Chibs thought Tig would at least have a soft spot for a young girl from Charming, a girl from their own town, one of their own, especially after what had happened all those years ago. Sorcha had been about the same age as Tristan. He leaned over and made sure Tig heard him say, "I'm in."_

Happy hung up the phone, stuck it back in his pocket, and headed into the building. After a short walk through a bustling maze of scrubs and gurneys and an elevator ride up two floors, he walked down a very straight hall, opened a door and resumed his seat next to Sorcha's bed. The normally spirited redhead now lay eerily calm. She was breathing on her own, but she'd lost a lot of blood. An IV pumped saline into her arm, keeping her hydrated. For now, they were seeing if her body would start healing itself; if her red cell count didn't increase by morning, they'd give her a transfusion. He looked up at the clock on the wall, slid a hand over his head feeling the stubble on his scalp, and blew a sigh. Frowning briefly at the blood on his white t-shirt, he turned his attention back to the girl. It had been almost three years since she'd moved up here to attend the University of Washington at Tacoma; three years since she'd been entrusted to the Tacoma charter of the Sons of Anarchy. Though the entire group up here saw her as a little sister--and were instructed to drop everything at a moment's notice should she call--she greatly favored Happy and East Coast. Maybe it was because they were the two she'd been most familiar with when she'd moved up here; they were always on runs down to Charming. But to say that the reason was because Happy and EC had simply stepped up, made an effort to help her get acclimated to the location change, was probably closer to the truth. She hadn't latched on to them; they'd latched on to her. When Happy's mother had finally died, and he'd come back to Tacoma from his "Nomad" status, he basically hadn't let her out of his sight. In fact, he'd just started allowing her to do things outside of class and the club. He only blamed himself for not being there to protect her. He wasn't aware of when he closed his eyes.

Sunlight streamed in through the horizontal blinds on the window. They'd been here all night; _he'd_ been here all night. Sorcha painfully pushed herself to a sitting position and laid a hand on his arm. "Hap," she croaked. "Happy."

He jolted awake and sucked in a deep breath. "You alright, Spitfire?" he asked, sitting up and wiping the sleep from his face.

"Yeah." Her eyes said otherwise, but Happy knew better than to contradict her. If she said she was okay, then--regardless of how she felt at the moment--she would be.

"I called Chibs last night," he said, glancing at the clock. "He should be here any time now." She nodded her understanding. "D'you remember what happened?" She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, avoiding his eyes. It obviously bothered her. Happy got up from the chair and sat down on the bed, wrapping an arm around her. "It's okay, Baby Girl." He looked through the window of the room and saw three leather-clad men approaching the door. "Hey," he whispered. "They're here." He kissed the top of her head, and moved to the door, catching Chibs, Jax and Opie before they entered. He closed the door behind him; he wanted to talk to the men privately for a second. "She doesn't remember what happened," he addressed Chibs. "Which is probably a good thing 'cause the rape test came back positive." Chibs closed his eyes and set his jaw. _Not again_. "I also wanted to warn you," Happy continued. "She didn't just let it happen; whoever it was got a few good swipes with a shiv."

"How bad?" Chibs asked.

"She was passed out from blood loss when I found her."

"Son of a bitch," breathed Jax. Opie just shook his head, at a loss for words. Chibs heaved a sigh and nodded; he was ready, and she needed him.

Tears finally ran from her eyes as Chibs entered, his face full of sympathy and guilt. He made a bee-line for her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close. After a few minutes, she'd calmed down a little, and he pulled back and placed a finger under her chin, turning her head to get a better look at the row of stitches on her cheek. He winced, remembering how much his own scars had hurt . . . and how little he'd been paying attention to his own pain the night he'd received them. Then he gently tucked her hair back behind her ear and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. "Tak m' hame, Da?" she whispered painfully. "I dinnae wantae stay here." Her eyes begged him with everything she had in her. He nodded meaningfully and pressed his lips against her forehead. He wiped away one more tear, then stood and headed toward the door. He would get her home tonight even if he had to pay for an ambulance to take her.

Jax and Opie glanced at each other as Chibs passed between them without a word. After a silent moment of deciding who would be first, Jax stepped forward. Sorcha was taking deep breaths and using her free hand to gently wipe her cheeks dry as he approached cautiously and sat down on the side of the bed. Nearly a decade ago, he'd seen her sitting in a bed like this, eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying, looking to her father and brothers for comfort and support. He laid a reassuring hand on her knee and glanced down at the needle in her skin connecting the tube of clear liquid to the crook of her elbow. Just below it on her inside of her forearm was a slightly modified version of the tattoo that all Samcro women were allowed to carry. It was the same crow-and-heart, but unlike the others, below the bird read "Nic a' Préachán" in an ornate script . . . "Daughter of the Crow." She was the first to bear this title because she was also the first woman to be almost entirely raised by the club.

He'd been the age she was now the last time. God, that was hard to say: the last time. They'd all thought the last time would be the only time she'd ever know this kind of pain. How could this have happened again? Opie entered behind Jax and took a seat in the chair next to the bed.

"How ya feelin', Kid?" It was all Jax could do to keep his voice from cracking.

"Like I been het by a bus," she snuffled back through a nervous laugh. She took a deep breath and turned to the bear in the seat next to her. "Ope, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it back fer Donna's funeral."

"Hey, don't even worry about that right now."

"I jus' dinnae wan' you ta be angry weth me." Tears started escaping her eyes again, pulling at the portion of his heart that belonged to her.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he asked with a sympathetic chuckle. He stood and leaned over, enveloping her in an embrace, and she clung to him with her free arm, thoroughly soaking the shoulder of his thermal shirt.

The door opened, and Chibs, Happy and a nurse stepped through. "She's gonna un-hook ya, Love." The nurse gave Chibs a look that screamed of her tentativeness, but she made her way to Sorcha's bedside nonetheless. Flipping a white ring on the end of the hanging bag, she stopped the saline drip. Then she gently pulled at the tape that kept the needle in Sorcha's arm. The needle slid out easily, pulling a few drops of blood to the surface with it. The nurse quickly pressed a square of gauze to the spot and secured it with a strip of cloth tape.

"Alright," she sighed. "But I don't like the fact that they're moving you this soon, and I really think you should talk to someone about what happened."

Sorcha wasn't in the mood to deal with this. "Look, Mess, I appreciate that yer tryin' ta help me, but I _don't _wanna talk about it; I jus' wanna go _home_."

As she was leaving, another man slipped in through the door. EC had brought with him a backpack full of clothes that Sorcha had kept in Happy's room at the clubhouse. All four men walked slowly to accommodate Sorcha's soreness. She leaned heavily on her father, eternally grateful for the sneakers EC had included with the jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. This ride would probably be pretty painful, but she didn't care; she just wanted to go home.

She waited for Chibs to kick-start the bike before climbing on behind him. He handed her her helmet from his handlebars, and she pulled the strap tight against her chin. She pulled her sunglasses from the pocket of her jacket and slid them onto her ears before pulling up the zipper. Then she scooted forward and wrapped her arms around her father's waist. The tension in her muscles eased with the comforting vibration and familiar sound. Though she was thankful that he'd attached his sissy bar so she could sit back, right now she just wanted to feel his solidity. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as the four bikes pulled away.

_Sorcha sat up in the hospital bed looking out the window, her face raw from the lines of tears. The door opened, and Tig walked through, quietly shutting it behind him. The chain on his wallet jingled softly as he made his way over to her bed and sat down. "How ya feelin', Kiddo?"_

_"Ya have sexual assault charges on yer record?"_

_Tig swallowed hard. He was afraid she might ask him about it, but he wasn't going to lie to her. "Yeah."_

_Her head jerked to face him, eyes spewing blue flames at his body. "You ded thes ta someone else," she accused._

_"Not like this, Spitfire." His gaze radiated sympathy; the woman who'd pressed charges against him had been just that a_ woman_. Sorcha was still a girl, and whoever had done this would pay._

_But it didn't matter. She'd been hurt, violated, and she wasn't seeing the difference in the situations. She turned her face back to the window and whispered, "Get out."_

Sorcha's insides leaped as they pulled into the parking lot of the clubhouse. It had been a long ride. It had also been nearly a year since she'd last been here, and she was more than homesick. She'd been taking summer classes over the past two years so that she could finish as soon as possible. She'd never really wanted to leave Charming. After the incident eight years ago--and the resulting carnage--she didn't think any of the Mayans would be stupid enough to mess with her again. They understood the rules of gang life. Unfortunately, the same wasn't true for frat boys.

She lifted the helmet from her head and handed it back to her father. In the failing light, she could see some of the remaining members of the Sons of Anarchy coming out to meet them. Her uncles Clay and Bobby lengthened their steps to get to her, while Tig hung back. He'd always taken care of her the way the club expected him to, but there was also a slight tension between them. He'd been the one who taught her how to weld and how to pull apart an engine and put it back together. But eight years ago, she'd started looking at him differently. He had a history of criminal sexual conduct, including sexual assault. Eight years ago she'd finally understood what that meant, and she hadn't been able to look at or speak to him for almost a month. Now they respected each other, but rarely talked unless the situation required it.

She slid down to the ground and immediately grabbed for the bike. Her knees didn't want to hold her weight. After a few seconds of steadying herself, she turned to accept hugs from the two older men. Bobby dropped a kiss on her left cheek and whispered, "If there's anything you need, just let us know, Sweetheart." She nodded as he took a step back, giving her room to breathe. Her eyes drifted up, catching a glimpse of Tig, and her whole body flinched. She dropped her gaze to the pavement and then closed her eyes, swallowing the urge to cry again. Bobby and Clay exchanged a glance before looking to Chibs. He met both their stares and simply nodded, silently telling them that she had indeed been raped again. He reached for his daughter's hand and gently began guiding her toward the clubhouse. They would stay here for a while. He no longer had his own place because there'd been no need for it while Sorcha was at school year-round. Opie and Jax followed behind them, enclosing her in a ring of security. But before she could make it to the door, her legs gave out. Reflexively, Opie's hands shot out and caught her shoulders. He glanced at Chibs, who let go of her hand, and then Opie swung her up into his arms effortlessly.

They went through the door single file, Opie sidling through so as not to smack Sorcha's head into the doorjamb. Juice sprang to his feet, immediately dropping what he was doing at the computer to greet the returning group. "Is she okay?" he asked nervously.

"She will be," Clay shot back at him.

Jax tapped Opie on the shoulder. "She can sleep in my room tonight," he offered, leading the way down the hall and in through his door. He cleared the various items from the bed and pulled back the covers. Opie gently laid her down and unzipped her jacket, rolling her onto each side to pull her arms from the sleeves. Jax pulled the sneakers from her feet and dropped them at the foot of the bed, then pulled the covers up over her. Each man kissed her forehead and headed back out to the common room. The older men were all sitting at the bar as they entered.

"You've got to be kidding me," Bobby exclaimed. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"All Happy told me 'as that he found 'er face-down on the lawn 'a some frat house bleedin' ta death."

"And you're sure she doesn't remember anything?" Clay asked.

"Hap said no," Chibs answered. He stood up and walked behind the bar, pulling a bottle of whisky from the shelf and taking a swig.

"Well, let's all pray it stays that way. God knows she doesn't need the memory of another one." The other men nodded in agreement.

_Chibs strained with all his might, trying to break the grip the other men had on him. He wasn't an easy man to hold; they needed three of them just to keep him from getting away. Sorcha on the other hand, was much smaller than he. It didn't take much at all to lift her . . . or to throw her onto the table. The brown-skinned man leaned over her, smiling down as she fought the hold he had on her wrists. "It's okay, Chica; you're gonna like what Uncle Hector's got for you." Another man approached the other side of the table, grabbing for her ankles. She kicked and flailed, but they held her fast._

_"No!" Chibs screamed, his face turning purple with rage. But all he could do was watch. There were four of them that stole his daughter's innocence. By the time they were finished, she was unconscious. The last one buttoned his pants, and then they pushed Chibs flat on his back. Hector stood over him with a knife, holding his forehead down. Pain ripped through his face as the blade opened up each of his cheeks, but his mind was on his little girl. He heard the THUDs of their boots leaving the house and rolled his head to one side, catching a glimpse of his wife laying lifelessly on the floor, the phone receiver near her hand. As the world went black, there were sirens in the distance._


	2. Chapter 2

One quick note: I try to respond to every review that's sent to me, but there was one posted that I couldn't respond to because the person didn't "sign" it (at least not electronically). Papa, thank you for taking the time to read and review this--I greatly appreciate everyone who does. Obviously, the story continues (with this post). There's much more that Sorcha has told me. As for the accent, I concede that hers would be less substantial than Chibs's--I've always heard her voice as slightly more "Americanized" than his--but if both her mother and her father had accents, it's likely that regardless of where she grew up, she would also have a bit of one. We first learn to speak by mimicking others--namely, our parents--and particularly if she learned to speak another language before or concurrently with English (which you'll see a bit of later), she would have an accent. I had a few friends while growing up who were born in America, went to American schools their entire lives, but still ended up with Indian accents because they learned Hindi first, and their parents spoke with thick accents. Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you continue!

To everyone: I apologize that this has taken me so long. I've had to do a few re-vamps to the original story I had because of the curve ball Kurt threw me with the past couple of episodes. In fact, it's looking like being canon may no longer be an option. I will continue to write the characters as closely as I am able, and include as many of Kurt's new details as I can. But as much as I didn't want it to, this story is taking a different fork in the road from the series. Hopefully it won't deter any of you from continuing to read it.

Ride Free, Love Always, Aoife

---------

Stiff and sore from the past few nights' activities, Sorcha wearily wiped the sleep from her eyes. Though blocked by the curtains, the sun poured warmth into the room from the window. As she looked around bleary-eyed, she gradually recognized the space known as "Jax's room," called thus because of how long he'd spent living in it. It was fairly plain now; he obviously hadn't been using it nearly as much as when he'd first divorced Wendy. She'd heard that Tara was back in town and was happy for Jax. She was also glad that Wendy was gone. Sorcha and Wendy had never quite gotten along. Nonetheless, Jax's room would have still been used during large parties. And the sheets smelled like they hadn't been changed since the last one. Her nose wrinkled, and she pushed herself up off the pillows. With great difficulty, she willed her muscles to move enough to get her to her feet. Equally as difficult was managing to get herself down the hallway and back out to the main room. The fact that she was still wearing blue jeans made moving that much harder. Two men sat on stools in front of the bar while a third stood behind it. "Mornin', Spitfire. You still alive?" asked the standing, brown-skinned, mohawked one.

She blinked a few times and painfully managed only, "Coffee?"

"Have a seat," Juice laughed, moving to get her a cup of what was left in the coffee pot. Like a zombie in an old movie, she shuffled her way to a stool and pulled herself up onto it. Kip jumped up to help before returning to the seat next to her. Once seated, she laid the uninjured left side of her face on her folded arms on the bar.

"You the prospect?"

"Yeah," he responded.

"You got a name, Probie?"

"Kip," he answered. "But most people call me Half-Sack . . . or just Sack now, cuz I got an implant."

Her brow wrinkled briefly in confusion, but she let it go. "Nice ta meet ya, Kip," she smiled weakly. He smiled back and nodded. Juice set a mug of coffee--tinted beige by cream and sugar--in front of her. She sat upright a little too fast and sucked in a breath as her vision reeled. Juice sped to the other side of the bar and laid his hands on her shoulders to make sure she wasn't going to fall. She sighed, "Thanks, Juice."

"Anything for you, Babe." He pressed his lips to the side of her temple, and then headed back to the computer to continue his work for Clay.

"You better get back to work, Sack," Piney coaxed from the prospect's other side. "Clay's gonna start wondering where you got off to."

"Oh, shit!" Kip exclaimed, jumping up and looking at the clock. He powered down the rest of his coffee and ran out the door. Sorcha watched after him in confusion, and Piney started laughing.

Finally, he turned to her and explained, "I just like messing with him 'cause I can." Sorcha chuckled back and lifted her coffee to her mouth.

"You're horrible, Old Man."

"Comes with the territory," he shrugged. "You feelin' okay, Kiddo?"

"Better," she gave him. "Glad ta be home."

"I bet."

"'Ey, shouldn't you out werkin' too?"

"It's my lunch break," he replied smugly.

"I'm surprised no one's sponsored 'im yet," she opened, nodding toward the door that Kip had just exited.

"Haven't decided who." His eyes darted over to Juice and back to her. "Some are easier than others."

"Whoa there," she warned.

He put up his hands defensively and lowered his voice. "I'm not sayin' he didn't deserve it, just that there was a clear sponsor for him--like with Opie and Jax." She nodded her understanding and went back to her coffee. Small sips of the liquid traveled down her throat, warming her insides and awakening her brain.

"How long was I out?"

"You got back around 10 Saturday night . . . It's somewhere around 1 on Monday." He smiled as she winced. "Musta needed the rest, though, Sweetheart." Lumbering up from his stool he laid a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. "It's good to have you back, Spitfire."

"Thanks, Pine."

_Juice sat next to the man who'd sponsored him, given him his patch. It also happened to be the father of the young woman he cared deeply about. Chibs sipped straight from the Whisky bottle. It had been a long night for all of them, but probably even more so for Chibs. Though it was Opie who was truly hurting, the Scotsman had been hurled into a scene he knew all too well. As he'd approached the crime scene he could see Opie on the ground leaning over something. He didn't have to look at her to know it was Donna. Chibs wrapped his arms around Opie, a rock for his brother in the storm of what was happening in his mind. But he couldn't look at the bloody woman on the pavement. _

_Juice hadn't blamed him. He didn't know if he could survive something like what the two of them had been through. It had been hard enough when Sorcha had decided to go to Washington for school, and that was just leaving the state. It was his own fault though; he hadn't made enough of an effort to keep her. She left on her own; she hadn't been taken like the wives of these two men. God only knew what that felt like._

Chibs entered the garage area to see a familiar pair of sneakers sticking out from under one of the cars. "Feck off!" a female voice said. "I got shet fer space en here as et es."

"Sorry," came the male response. "I just thought you needed a little more muscle for it." Chibs heard her smack him before he elicited an, "Ah, damn, Girl." A smile touched his lips. _That's m' girl_.

"'Ey, what the fuck d'ya think yer doin'?" He bent down, grabbed her right shoe and pulled. Sorcha sighed, rolled her eyes, dropped her hands to her chest and went limp. Though she wasn't all the way out yet, it would be more dangerous to her head if she tried to do it herself. So she surrendered to her father. Chibs grabbed her belt buckle, made sure her pants were secure, and gave another swift tug. She slid easily out from under the car to stare the man in the face. He moved his sunglasses up onto his head to look her in the eyes for effect.

"I'm fexin' brake lines."

"Who told ya you could do that?"

"I's bored," the redhead complained.

"Ya need ta take et easy fer a few days," he countered.

"Et's no' like I'm runnin' a marathon er anythin'."

"Well, I don' wanna hafta pay ta fex more damages when you rep through yer stetches er get yer cuts full 'a brake fluid!" While they were talking, Dog had found his way over to them.

"I'm sorry, Chibs," he said, stopping the squabble. "She asked if she could come back here, and you know how much of a soft spot we all have for her."

"Yeah, yeah," Chibs spat back. "Til she gets those steches out, she jest watches; got et?"

"Understood."

Chibs turned his attention back on the young woman still laying on the floor and gave her a confused look. She looked frustrated. "I can't get up," she whispered. There it was: the look that melted his heart. He placed a hand on either side of her waist and allowed her to pull herself up on his neck. He cradled her as gently as he had the day she was born, holding her closely as she winced in pain.

"Et's okay, Baby Doll." She buried her face in his neck as she struggled to her feet. Leaning against him, she took a few deep breaths. "My li'l grease monkey." He gently rubbed her back a couple of times and then lead her over to the clubhouse.

_She took a deep breath and walked in the automatic door. The receptionist slid back the glass window. "Do you have an emergency?"_

_"No, Ma'am. I'm looking for m' father. I got a call from a friend said he's here."_

_"Well, I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back in the morning. We don't allow visitors after 8pm."_

_"Ma'am, please, I go ta school in Washington. I had ta take a bus; thes 'as the fastest I could get here."_

_"I'm very sorry to hear that, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait."_

_"But I can't stay; I can't mess anymore of m' classes, 'n the only bus I could find back up leaves in six hours." Tears started to well up at the corners of her eyes. "They told me he got blown up."_

_That last sentence finally plucked at a string in the woman's heart. "You mean Mr. Telford?"_

_"Yes, Ma'am."_

_"He's in the ICU up on the second floor."_

_"Thank you," Sorcha breathed as she hurried down the hall. She could see all the machines but was afraid to enter the room. Seeing him laying there hooked up to tubes and wires scared her more than anything she'd ever been through. Setting her jaw, she pushed the door open. Her knees weakened as she neared the bed, but she wouldn't allow herself to fall. She managed to pull a chair over and lower herself to it with dignity. But as she slid her hand into the older man's, the tears she'd almost showed the receptionist finally fell. Her grip tightened as though letting go would cause her to fall off the earth itself. "I'm here, Da." But there was no answer except the steady beep of the machine monitoring his pulse. He didn't have a trachea tube in, but there was a line of oxygen running to his nostrils. "Ya can't leave me, Old Man," she continued. She leaned forward on her elbows, pulling his hand up to her mouth. "Ya can't leave me b'cause I won't let you." There was an urgency in her voice now. "Ya hear me, Filip Telford? I'm no' lettin' ya go!" Still nothing but the BEEP BEEP of the machine in response. She pulled his hand up underneath her chin and ever so gently, laid her head on his stomach. Closing her eyes she focused on the sound of his breathing . . . because it was _his_ breathing, and that was a good sign. Five hours later, her eyes opened to the same scene. she'd hoped he would wake up while she was there, but life wasn't a movie; it wasn't always happy endings. She looked at the watch on her right wrist, stood up and stretched. Leaning down one more time, she kissed the bandage wrapped across his forehead. "Bheith go maith, Athair." The she turned and headed back the way she'd come. She had a bus to catch._

"So are you an' Juice pickin' up where ya left off?" Chibs dared once they were in the empty clubhouse.

"Where'd ya get that idea?" she asked, taking a seat on one of the stools at the bar.

"That was hem ya were werkin' weth, wadn' et?"

"So what?"

"He hasn't really been the same sence ya stopped visitin' each other."

"Well, he star'ed et."

"Don't gev m' that; you stopped comin' home altogether." He pointed a finger at her, accusing.

Her gun metal blue gaze held him for a minute before she answered. "I got tired a' watchin' the Mamas throw themselves at 'im, and hem not doin' shet about et."

"They dedn't matter ta hem," Chibs countered. "Ya could do a lot worse, ya know."

"Da, will ya feckin' drop et already?!" She stood up to yell at him properly. "I may no' remember much, but I's jest _raped_ a few days ago! Er ded that escape yer mind?!"

"Hey now," he took a step toward her, reminding her who was in charge. "I's jest curious; ya don't need ta jump doon m' throat." It was the wrong thing for him to do. She stood with her teeth clenched, heart beating fast. He knew that look; it was her "fight or flight" look. She felt like he was backing her into a corner. He raised his hands in a kind of surrender. "Tak a breath, Baby Doll; et's alright," he soothed.

After filling her lungs a couple of ragged times, she announced, "I'm gonna go lay down." She turned on her heel and started toward the hallway.

"'Ey!" She turned to face him again, knowing that if she didn't, there would be hell to pay later. "I love you." She bit her bottom lip, and her brow wrinkled with the frustration of not being able to stay mad at him. He was still her dad.

"I love you too, Da." Before he made her cry, she spun back around and headed down to his room.

_There were seven of them done over a period of a few months. Each of the men closest to her took a turn. All of them deserved it. When all was said and done, the bodies had bled out from slices on their faces--slowly and painfully--and then had their genitals removed before being photographed with an old polaroid camera and disposed of. The pictures were sent to Alvarez as a warning against further violence toward this particular young woman of the club. And Alvarez had understood, even sent a peace offering to Sorcha to show he had learned his lesson. But the damage was done, and Sorcha was never the same._

The phone on the dresser started singing. Sorcha had a new text message. She flipped it open and accepted it. It was from Kara, and she knew her roommate must be wondering what was going on by now. "Wtf r u? Ur bikers wouldn't tell me n/e thing-i almost died!" She chuckled a bit at Kara's over-reaction. While she had no doubt the boys at the Tacoma clubhouse would have given Kara lecherous comments rather than information, there was no danger of the 5'5" blond being killed.

She hit "reply" and typed out, "I'm okay. I'm home. Be back in a few days for my stuff." A few seconds later, the phone sang again.

"U mean ur not gonna finish school?"

"I'll finish down here. I'm not in a hurry to stay in Tacoma anymore."

"That totally sucks!" This time, Sorcha clapped the phone shut without responding. She didn't feel like dealing with Kara's inflated sense of drama right now, and she certainly didn't feel like explaining what had happened. The phone went back onto the dresser, and she pulled one of her father's t-shirts from within its depths. She changed into it and pulled her hair out of the ponytail she'd had it in. Sore muscles compelled her to climb into the bed; though she'd never admit it, she had over-exerted herself today muscling the clip off the brake hose bracket.

The next thing she knew, she was being woken up by her father. "Ya okay, Sweetheart?" She shook the sleep from her brain, vaguely aware of the fact that she'd been having a nightmare. But she must have already been coming out of it, because all she could remember was the smell of cheap beer and the sharp sting of her cuts. Wincing, she sat up and looked at Chibs.

"Was I yellin'?" He nodded with a slightly worried look on his face. "Fuck," she breathed. It was starting again. This wasn't the first time she'd been through bouts of nightmares. It seemed to be her mind's preferred way of dealing with things. She could be fine all day long, pushing the bad memories out of her thoughts, but when she slept, her brain worked out all its fears and anxieties. She leaned forward into the somber, older man's arms, breathing in his scent to calm her jittery nerves.

"Ya wantae get somethin' ta eat?" he offered. She nodded into his shoulder. "There's pizza on a table out there."

"Do I hafta put on pants?"

Chibs couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I dinnae think any 'a the guys'd complain." That was all she needed to hear. She defied her soreness and climbed out of the bed, heading directly for the main room of the clubhouse. She hadn't eaten all day, and her stomach was now yelling at her for it. As she exited the hallway, she saw three Reaper cuts sitting around a table full of pizza boxes. She made her way over and opened a box to grab a slice of plain cheese pizza.

"Mornin', Sweetheart," Bobby laughed. She shot him an annoyed look as she took a large bite.

"Ah, leave her alone," Clay answered. "She's had a rough couple days; she deserves to sleep 'til 8pm."

"Thank you, Boss-man," she replied sweetly.

"Aw, Honey, you can't be doin' that," Tig spoke up, his eyes moving to the ceiling. Clay and Bobby, both across the table from her, exchanged a confused glance. Without seeing the other men's confusion, Tig explained his outburst. "She's not wearing pants." Clay started laughing while Bobby shrugged.

"So?"

"She's too grown up," Tig continued. Then he turned his attention to her. "Chibs's shirts don't come down as far as they used to; you're gettin' dangerously close to showin' me what color panties you got on." Silently, she picked up another piece of pizza, balancing it on top of the one she already had, and, sneering at him, lifted up the edge of the shirt just enough to show him that she was wearing blue today; then she turned and headed back down the hallway. All of the older men started laughing and cat-calling. Just as she was moving out of earshot she heard Tig say, "God, Chibs, she's perfect."

"Back off," Chibs shot back.

_Sorcha climbed up onto Opie's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "What's up, Pixie?" he asked, concerned. She only clung to him when there was something wrong. She was fourteen, but after what she'd been through the year before, he and Jax tended to spoil her a little. Donna completely understood, and simply got up to go get another drink, allowing Sorcha a few minutes alone with Opie. _

_"I don't like 'er."_

_"Who?" Sorcha lifted her chin in the direction of her father. He was sitting on the couch with a dark haired, dark skinned woman on his knee._

_"What the hell kinda Irish woman looks like that?"_

_"One whose parents weren't from Ireland." She raised an eyebrow at him in annoyance and set her jaw. He chuckled a bit in surrender. "Why don't you like her, Spitfire?"_

_"She's too perfect, too sweet."_

_"What?"_

_"Like, _seckly_ sweet." The worry behind Sorcha's voice told Opie that it wasn't simply the redhead vying for her father's attention. "'Ets somethin' wrong about 'er." Her flame-colored brow wrinkled in frustration. "I don't know why, but I don't trust 'er."_

_"Tell ya what; I'll talk to Clay, maybe look into things a little for you, okay?" She breathed a sigh of tentative contentment and nodded. "Now go to bed," he ordered._

_"Love you, Ogre." She hugged him tightly, then climbed back to the floor and hurried down the hallway to the room where she was being allowed to stay for the night._


	3. Chapter 3

I wasn't sure if I was going to continue this story, but I'm not mean enough to leave you guys hanging. I had toyed with the thought of re-vamping it to fit the route Kurt took with the story, but I don't want to get screwed over again if things change in the next season. So I'll keep this one going as long as Sorcha tells me the story. Updates might be a bit sparse, but they will keep coming until I get an ending for it. Happy Valentine's Day . . . well, very belated now.

Miss you everyday, Uncle Scurvy, R.I.P.

Ride Free, Love Always, Aoife

---------

She leaned against the wall next to the door, head tilted back, eyes closed, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of her blue jeans. Her shirt bunched a bit where it met her pants, hugging what she less-than-affectionately called her "love handles." But Juice had never thought she was fat. The women he'd been raised by were much bigger. Though she was a little heavy on the bottom end, her 140 pounds were distributed fairly evenly over her 5'2" frame, and what man in his right mind would complain about a girl having a nice ass? She was simply a little softer than most of the women who hung out at the club. But she wasn't weak either; a good portion of that weight was muscle. Many times he'd seen one of the Mamas give Sorcha shit, and then get put in her place. She would say that she was built like her dad, but Chibs would say she looked just like her mother. Either way, she was 140 pounds of red-headed, Scottish-Irish passion and fury.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, squinting at him from across the lot. "Take a feckin' picture already!" she called. He smiled to himself, got off his bike and headed over to her. She crossed her arms over her chest as he approached and leaned against the wall next to her.

"I would if you'd let me," he taunted. Sobering, he asked, "Who you waitin' on?"

"Got an appointment with Tara. Jax said he'd take me."

"How come you're waitin' out here?" She didn't respond, instead holding up a finger and pointing to the door. He listened for a second and heard raised voices through the wall. "Clay?" She nodded. "Well, I can take you," he offered. "What time do you have to be there?"

"Four."

"Alright, lemme run to my room real quick."

"'Kay."

He opened the door and snuck through the main room. Clay's back was to Juice as he shouted at Jax. Slipping down the hallway, he turned into his doorway and shut the door. His eyes roved the area, stopping on his desk. There was a file folder containing inventories for Bobby. He scooped it up and hurried back out to the front room. He spotted Sorcha's black leather jacket on a hook by the door and grabbed it. Turning around, he lifted it, indicating to Jax that Sorcha would be needing it for the ride. Jax nodded, and Juice continued out the door.

He handed the jacket to its owner and quickly walked over to the shop's office. Gemma sat at the computer on the desk and looked up as he entered. "Here's the list Bobby wanted," he explained, handing it to her.

She accepted it from him and set it on the desk next to her. "Where are you off to so fast?" she asked to his turned back as he hurried back toward the door. "Sorcha's got an appointment with the Doc," he called over his shoulder. "Gettin' her stitches out today." Gemma stared after him in curiosity, watching the two of them out the window. She was glad Sorcha wasn't hesitant to be near men. To be afraid of the people who loved you was something she never wished on anyone.

_She leaned over and pulled her boot on. As she went to zip it, he opened the door and entered the room. "Oh, Baby," he exclaimed in sympathy. He moved to kiss her, but she flinched, pulling away from him. "I'm so sorry."_

_"No, it's okay," she assured him. "I'm just kinda jumpy." Her whole body screamed just looking at him. It was all his fault . . . and yet, it wasn't at the same time. This happened because of Clay and the boys, but they'd done nothing to provoke this kind of retaliation. This was a pre-emptive strike meant to rattle the club, shake them up. And she wouldn't let that happen._

_"You gotta lay off the midnight joyrides," he chuckled, trying to make her smile._

_"Yeah," she grimaced back, not really in the mood to be cheered up just yet._

_"You okay?" _

_No, she thought. I'm never going to be okay again. But she knew that wasn't true. This was bad, but at least she still had her family. It would just take a little while to get over. "I'm fine."_

_"It's kinda hot." Bless his heart, he was still trying to make her feel better._

_"Thanks, that's what I was going for," she managed to send back._

_"You ready to go home?"_

_She couldn't go home with him yet. She couldn't even handle kissing him, let alone getting on a motorcycle with him. And beyond that, she could barely sit on a chair without pain; what would a bike seat do to her? "Y'know, they have to . . . uh . . . they gotta do some X-rays. Neeta can give me a lift."_

_"I can wait," he offered._

_"No, Honey, it's okay; it's gonna be a while."_

_"You sure?"_

_"Yeah, I'm really . . . I'm fine," she stuttered, trying to convince herself as much as him. He leaned in to kiss her again, but stopped when she flinched and instead kissed her hands._

_"I love you."_

_"I love you too." As he closed the door, her chest tightened. How could she be afraid of her own husband? Tears rose to her eyes and for once in her life, she didn't stop them. She deserved to cry. And once this was over, she would make sure that little blond bitch paid for hitting her, and that the boys put every one of those bastards in the ground . . . just like they'd done before._

Over at his bike, Juice handed a helmet to Sorcha, put his own on and swung his leg over the iron mustang. Though it wasn't necessary, Sorcha waited until Juice started the bike before she got on behind him; it was a habit from riding on her father's kick-start motorcycle. There was little--in Sorcha's opinion--that a ride on a motorcycle couldn't fix. Though she was more than welcome to help the guys in the shop fixing them, her father still didn't want her to have one. She was able to ride on her own, but the club didn't think it was a good idea. None of the other club women rode their own bikes. Her "membership" status was unprecedented, but that didn't mean they had to break all the rules for her. And she was just fine riding with someone else. She liked not having to think while she was riding, just close her eyes and fly like the crow on her forearm.

Juice had always been her favorite to ride with besides her father. He was a good size-match, and since she'd been in high school, was pretty much the only one besides her father who didn't have a regular rider. Clay had Gemma, Jax had Tara and then Wendy, Opie had Donna. So when all the younger people wanted to go somewhere, particularly when Juice was still a prospect and did what he was told, she rode with him.

Now she more than willingly climbed on behind him, a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She situated her body and wrapped her arms around his waist. He briefly laid a hand on her leg before pushing off and making for the street. Sorcha let her eyelids droop and laid her head against the reaper patch on his back.

_"Nothing can hurt you anymore." Sorcha kept telling herself that as she stood staring at her reflection in the mirror. The calf-high brown boots and t-shirt were hers, but the camouflage mini-skirt she'd borrowed from her roommate._

_"Come on, Sorcha, let's go," Kara called from the other room. Sorcha'd been to countless parties with the Sons of Anarchy, and by most accounts they were more dangerous than any fraternity. But she'd still never been to a genuine "Frat Party," and it made her a little nervous. Sorcha met the other girl in the hallway. _

_"I still don't feel right about this," Sorcha admitted._

_"You party with bikers and you're worried about a few fraternity boys?"_

_"Yes," she insisted. "They don't know the rules."_

_"Rules?" Kara started laughing. "Come on, Spitfire, what's the worst that could happen?"_

She hated exam rooms. They were always too cold, and the paper under her butt made a horrible noise with every tiny shift. Tara entered the room, clipboard in hand, and closed the door behind her. "Well, now that your stitches are out, I have some good news," she opened, taking a seat on the stool next to the table. "You're healing well . . . everywhere." Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief. "You'll definitely have the scar on your face and the small ones on your arms and torso, but I doubt anyone who knows you will care." Sorcha nodded; she would gladly take the visible scars to be completely intact everywhere else. It had taken her so long to recover the last time . . . "You got really lucky, Spitfire," Tara continued. "No broken bones, no diseases, and you're not pregnant." Tears welled up in Sorcha's eyes. Eight years ago she'd gotten an infection that had threatened her ability to ever have children. But that had been four men.

"I guess it helps that it was only one this time," she mumbled. Tara stopped and gave her a questioning look. Sorcha froze; she'd forgotten that everyone thought she didn't know what happened.

"Do you remember it?" Tara asked carefully, lowering her voice even though they were the only two in the room. Sorcha looked at the doctor helplessly. What was she supposed to say? _Yeah, I remember every excruciating detail of it, just like the last time. Only this time the guy who raped me is untouchable--a senator's son. _Tara's gaze softened as Sorcha sat at a loss for words. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do. But if it was me, I'd talk to someone about it. Jax or Opie . . . or Juice. You owe it to them to let them help fix it." She knew Tara was right, but she could only nod in response. "Well, you can get dressed again; there's a certain guy in leather waiting for you outside."

"Thanks, Tara." The doctor began to head out of the room, but Sorcha caught her attention with a hand on her arm. "Y'know, you were always more of a sester ta me than Wendy."

Tara smiled, looking genuinely grateful. "Think about what I said, okay?"

"Okay."

When Tara had left, she put her clothes back on and headed to administration. "You're all set, Honey," the woman behind the counter smiled. She nodded and continued to the waiting area where Juice was sitting anxiously in a chair, although "sitting" was a generous definition for what he was doing. He perched on the very edge of the seat, arms leaning on his knees, one foot bouncing in anticipation. The left side of Sorcha's mouth curled upward as she stood watching him for a second. But she thought it best to end his misery, so she stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. He bounced up onto his feet.

"You okay?" His hand rested gently on the small of her back, and he leaned down slightly to look her directly in the eyes.

"Yes," she responded, laying her hand on his arm as reassurance. "I still have to do a follow-up HIV test, but other than that, I'm clean and healing well."

"That's awesome, Babe." He pulled her into an embrace, and she couldn't help letting herself linger in it a little longer than she should have. She shouldn't get her hopes up; there was no reason to expect he still wanted her as he once said he did. He must have hooked up with a dozen or more girls just since she'd been home last. But still, she felt her heart leap as he held her just as long as she allowed him to.

_They stood around the backside of the moving van to have a little privacy from her father, who sat in the drivers' seat. "I'll wait for you if you want me to."_

_"I don't expect ya ta do that; frankly, I don't think ya could."_

_"You'd be surprised," he shot back. "I don't want anyone else, Spitfire."_

_"You say that now. Just wait til et's been two months 'n you haven't gotten any."_

_"You don't ever plan on coming home to visit?" She shrugged in response. "And it's not like I can't ever come up there . . . and we do have these handy things called cell phones and the internet now." She sighed up at him with a desperate look in her eyes. "Hey, it'll be okay." His hands cradled her face, and he pulled her into a kiss._

Tara knocked on the door and entered to find Sorcha standing in front of the mirror. She wore a simple tank top and jeans, showing off most of the scars she now carried. The older woman caught Sorcha's eyes in the reflection. "Everyone who matters isn't going to care," Tara assured her. "And if it really bothers you, I'm sure there's a flannel left in Jax's closet you could borrow."

"Et's not that," Sorcha replied. "I jest don't know how m' mind's gonna react to another party so soon." Tara slowly approached her and wrapped her arms around Sorcha's shoulders in a sisterly hug.

"But _this_ party is full of people who would kill for you." Sorcha nodded and took a deep breath. Tara smiled, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Come on, Spitfire; there's a lot of people out there who want to see you." The two women headed out to the main room where music blared, young women showed as much skin as they could get away with, and old men drank more than they should . . . including the one she called "Father." Chibs sat with a whisky bottle in one hand and a young blond on one knee. Surprisingly enough, the first person to greet Sorcha was Emily, the infamous Crow Eater.

"I heard you were back in town," she smiled. "How ya doin'?"

"Pretty good, considering," Sorcha replied. "You?"

"Oh, you know: workin' hard, playin' hard."

Sorcha nodded in Chibs's direction. "How's he been?"

"He's glad you're home."

Tara was slightly stunned by the conversation between the two. "Doesn't it ever bother you to see your dad like that?"

"Nah," Sorcha commented. "Why should it? He's earned the right ta have a little fun now 'n then."

"Besides," Emily put in, "Chibs never goes for redheads."

"Really?"

"Watch this," Sorcha smiled. She maneuvered over to a girl with orange-gold curls and asked her something Tara couldn't understand, then headed back to her companions. Tara watched intently as the girl neared Chibs and said something to him, obviously trying to get his attention. Chibs blew her off without a second thought. Tara's eyes widened, and the other two started laughing.

"Et might make me a betch, but I love watchin' 'em," Sorcha giggled.

"Let's get a drink," Tara suggested, trying to save any other girls from getting their hopes lifted by the apparently evil-minded redhead. Although, she had to admit to herself that she'd probably do the same thing in Sorcha's position. It re-affirmed in her mind that her father cared about her differently than any other woman on the planet. And it was just fun to play with the girls who didn't quite know the club yet. They took their leave of Emily and headed toward the bar. Tara went straight behind the bar and uncapped a beer, taking a sip and offering it to Sorcha. Without hesitation, Sorcha took a drink and handed it back. As they surveyed the room, making comments about the ridiculousness of most of the women, Jax approached them.

"There's my girls." He dropped a kiss on Sorcha's cheek, and another on Tara's mouth. "You look like you're healing well, Spitfire."

"On the outside anyway," she smiled back. Jax's brow furrowed in concern. What had happened to her was enough to screw anyone up for life, and she was his sister as much as Opie was his brother.

"You want an escort tonight?"

Sorcha thought about it, but before she could answer, she caught sight of a brown-skinned, mohawked figure heading toward them. "Thanks, but something tells me I'm gonna have one whether I want it er not."

Jax followed her gaze and smiled. "Be nice to him; he got stabbed in prison not too long ago." She simply looked down at the new scars on her arms, then raised an eyebrow at him. His smile cracked into a chuckle. "Fair enough, Darlin'." As Juice approached, Jax and Tara headed off to be alone. Sorcha hoped it wasn't on the rancid sheets of Jax's old room that she--and apparently everyone before her--hadn't yet had a chance to wash.

_Juice thought he'd made it, that he was in the clear. He was just relieved that the plan had worked out the way they'd wanted it to; he'd never be able to live down taking it in the ass in prison just so the Sons could get some protection. They released him back out to the yard. All he had to do was get back to his boys. Suddenly, pain tore into his back, and his knees buckled. He grabbed at Jax, who was there instantaneously to catch him as he fell. The fire spread the longer he tried to keep himself upright, and he gave up, allowing a group of guards to carry him back to the infirmary. It was a much different trip this time. He prayed to whoever might possibly be listening. He couldn't die yet. Desperately trying to rid himself of the pain, he focused his mind on her face and drifted out of consciousness._

"You doin' okay, Babe?"

"Why does everyone keep askin' me that?" Sorcha shot back, annoyed. She was tired of answering that question time and time again.

Juice laughed nervously. "Maybe we just don't know what else to say." She sobered and looked at him seriously for a second. Then she pursed her lips and shook her head slightly, admitting that she wasn't as fine as she made out to be. "Let's go grab some air." He wrapped an arm around her and lead her outside. She folded her arms against the cool night as the started to walk. Without asking her if she wanted it, Juice slid his jacket off, put his cut back on, and placed the sweatshirt over Sorcha's shoulders. She accepted it gladly, not caring that it drowned her; it was warm, and she'd forgotten how much she missed his smell. They stopped on the bridge and leaned over the side, watching bubbles float up to the surface of the water. He dared enough to put an arm around her, and she allowed it, laying her head against his chest.

"I missed you," she whispered. His only response was to pull her closer. They stayed that way until Sorcha thought she might fall asleep standing there. She looked at her watch. "We should get back."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I don't want your dad comin' after me 'cause we disappeared; the last thing I need is Chibs pissed at me."

"You've got nothin' ta worry about, Love," she assured him, laying a hand on his chest briefly as she started to head back toward the clubhouse. Like a loyal, protective, and obedient dog, he followed her at first, eventually catching up to her and grabbing her hand to lead her the rest of the way. Conscious of nervousness, he let go of her hand and opened the door for her. They found that things were winding down, many of the older men now in corners with young women and ignoring each other. She handed his sweatshirt back to him and immediately started cleaning up. She would have to do it anyway; she might as well get a good portion of it out of the way before she was too tired to deal with it. People would start passing out and throwing up soon, and having bottles and cups and full ash trays mixed in with that was more than she cared to think about at the moment. Juice dropped a silent kiss on her cheek and headed back toward the room he was renting. She couldn't help but smile to herself. Maybe he did want her back. Heaving a sigh, she grabbed a trash bag from under the bar and set to picking up. Over the next hour, she watched as many went home, leaving their messes behind them. Infinitely more entertaining, however, was watching the old men fall asleep during sexual favors, prompting their Sweet Butts to pass out as well. One of these days, she would have start taking pictures and making a scrapbook of the positions in which they fell asleep. Another hour passed as she got things to a very manageable level. Only bodies now littered the room. She would wait to sweep and vacuum until everyone was awake the next day. Doing it now would just be cruel. She headed back to Jax's room and stood in the doorway. The idea of spending another night in that bed without cleaning the sheets disgusted her. Her nose wrinkled, still picking up the odors. She traveled a little farther down the hall and stopped outside her father's room. There were noises coming from it that hinted at obvious pleasure. The next door was Juice's; it couldn't hurt to try there. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd slept in that room.

She turned the knob and entered, finding a slumbering log on the bed. Carefully picking her across the dark room, she pushed at his shoulder. "Juice." A moan followed by an unintelligible mumble came from the form. She pushed him again harder. "Juan Carlos."

"Uhn?" He lifted his head and cracked one eye open.

"Move over."

"What?"

"I can't sleep in Jax's room anymore; move over."

"Why not?"

"It smells like old socks and pussy in there." She unbuttoned and pulled off her jeans before sliding in next to him under the covers. Still half asleep, he wasn't about to argue. He instinctively slid one arm under her neck and wrapped the other around her waist. She was in no mood to object. She simply relaxed into the solid mass behind her and drifted off.

_He'd had too much to drink. It seemed to be the trend lately. It had been almost nine months since she'd last been home. He understood that she was angry with Juice, but did she have to take it out on him? Did she know how much it hurt that his own daughter didn't want to come home to see him? Lately it seemed like she was slipping away. He'd lost one daughter to the girl's mother; he couldn't lose Sorcha too. Not when he and the club were technically all she had left. Wasn't she lonely? He watched Juice asleep on the pool table with one of the blond Crow Eaters tucked under his arm. Poor kid. He'd never admit just how much Sorcha had gotten under his skin. But Chibs knew. "Aithníonn cíaróg cíaróg eile." A beetle recognizes another beetle. He was vaguely aware of a young woman sliding his pants off, but he didn't care. With all the alcohol in his system, there'd be no way he could get off anyway. He finally succumbed to the blurring of his mind and everything went black. _

Juice woke up with a stinging scrape across his chest. His blurry eyes made out the figure of a young woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She ran a hand through her flaming hair and crossed her arms against her chest again, shuddering in the cool air of the room. He knew immediately that she'd had a nightmare. Sitting up, he scooted over to her and wrapped his still-warm arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He pressed his lips against her the nape of her neck. "You've done worse to me in bed." She chuckled half-heartedly, but at least he'd broken the tension. "You want to tell me about it?"

"I's feelin' the knife again," she answered. "Slicin' inta m' arms while I fought back." He moved over to one side of her and gently turned her face to him. Without words, he took her right hand and lifted it to his mouth. Over and over he repeated the motion until he'd kissed each of her new scars, finishing with the one on her cheek. As she felt his warm breath on her face, her chest began to tighten, and a familiar feeling overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. His hands in turn wrapped around her waist firmly, silently telling her that he wasn't going anywhere. She pulled back, unable to stand it anymore, and pressed her mouth hard against his.

_Poison poured from the smile he flashed at her. Blond hair, blues eyes, and a creepy feeling that you didn't want to be around stood blocking her way to the back door. "Come on, just sit and have a drink with me."_

_"Nah," she replied. "I'm done fer ta-night. I jest wanna find Kara 'n go home. Her head was already starting to feel fuzzy. She'd made sure she only had one drink. One cup of beer shouldn't have affected her like that. She was Irish and Scottish, and raised by bikers; she'd been drinking regularly since she was fifteen. Her alcohol tolerance rivaled that of forty-year-old men._

_"Aww, come on," he slurred. "It's just one drink."_

_"No," she insisted. She tried to push past him and make her way back into the house to find her friend. His hand shot out and clasped her forearm tightly, twisting it until she cried out in pain. _

_"I said, one more drink." Had she been sober, she'd have dropped his ass on the ground, but now she couldn't even tell which way was up, let alone stay standing. She writhed beneath his grasp, vaguely aware of being dragged somewhere._

Afterward, they lay still, Juice running a finger gently across her back. "You must have been practicing while you were away." She gave him a swift jab to the ribs. "Ah! What?" he objected. "It's not like I care." Sorcha rolled over onto her side. He laid a cool hand against her hot skin. "I'm sorry, Babe. I honestly don't care how many other guys you've slept with." She rolled back over and looked him square in the eyes.

"Yer still the only man I've willingly allowed ta have me." It struck a chord. Since she'd left, he'd had dozens of other partners. Some because he was mad at her, others because he was drunk, and none of them ever compared to her. The tricks they all turned, the fancy moves, none of it mattered. He hadn't really understood why. They'd all been very good at what they did, but there was always something missing. And he hadn't quite comprehended until now.

"It's you," he said aloud, not entirely on purpose.

"What?"

"I want you."

"Ya kinda jest proved that, Dumbass."

"No, I mean, after all this time, I still only want you. I know it sounds stupid, but the one thing that's been missing was you." He was astonished at his own words. He'd never been this sentimental before . . . with anyone.

"Ya don't hafta pretend," Sorcha replied defensively, also caught off-guard by his statement.

"I'm not," he insisted, much more sure of himself this time. "I owe you my patch, my life, and you're the only one who has my respect." He paused for a moment as though afraid to utter the next phrase. "I love you, Spitfire."

This completely blew her away. They'd been together--on and off--for years, and never had either of them used that phrase. Sure, she knew she loved him the way she loved every other guy in the club. But she'd never been able to bring herself to say it. She knew what it meant to lose your heart to one of the club members; she'd watched Gemma and Clay since she was old enough to pay attention. The rush of being a club woman was dizzying, but her mother had shown her the ultimate danger of being one. Through all of this, she knew in the pit of her stomach that it would be the only life she'd ever be able to live. Pretending to be a normal girl would only get her so far until she had to let her inner "biker chick" out. Finally, staring him in the face, she forced her voice out of hiding. "I love _you_," she whispered before pressing her mouth to his again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Have ya talked ta yer sester at all?" Sorcha looked up from her book. Her father still wouldn't allow her to work on any of the cars, but he didn't have a problem with her sitting in the garage while the men worked. She'd been home a week and a half, which was more than enough time to hear the news that she hadn't been the only one to visit Chibs during his stint in St. Thomas.

"You honestly think that betch es gonna let me corrupt _her_ daughter?"

"Nah," he conceded as he slid the dipstick back into place on the '94 Chevy he was working on. "But et'd be nice ta gev 'er a proper role model."

"Believe me, Da, I'd love nothin' more than ta pull Carrie Ann awa from the cunt 'n gev 'er a proper home... 'N don't even get me star'ed on the pervert she's married to now." Two daughters from two mothers, and they were like night and day to look at them. While Sorcha was pale-skinned with deep auburn hair, Carrie Ann was dark-headed and had a more olive tint to her skin. Though born and raised in Northern Ireland, Carrie Ann's mother Fiona was Indian by blood; Sorcha's mother had been from a family so Irish their veins carried whiskey. He couldn't deny that his familiarity with her had sparked his interest, but with Fiona it had been one mistake after the other. First was when he cheated on his wife with her-one night of drunk sex with a woman he'd known from home-and getting her pregnant had been the worst part. It hadn't come out until after the attack that Carrie Ann was his, so the only person he'd had to explain himself to was Sorcha . . . and that hadn't made him as ashamed about his actions as he should have been. Maybe if his infidelity had surfaced earlier, things would have happened differently.

Chibs hadn't found out how ruthless Fiona was until it was too late, and she'd already conned him into marrying her. The attack on his family hadn't been a coincidence. And Chibs's loyalty to his first wife and daughter held precedence over the wife who'd sanctioned the attack as a means of worming her way into his life. Poor Carrie Ann had been caught in the crossfire. It was obvious that the dark-haired young girl loved her father and sister; she'd been almost seven when they found out exactly what happened. Chibs had told Fiona exactly how long she had to get out of Charming before he killed her. All Carrie Ann understood at the time was that she and her mother were leaving, and they weren't coming back. Seventeen-year-old Sorcha had clung to her little sister. It broke her heart to have to give her up, but she was more afraid of what Fiona could do. In the end, Chibs held his older daughter as he watched his God-forsaken wife drive away with his other little girl.

_"She _what_?" Chibs couldn't believe what he was hearing Gemma say._

_"She paid for it. She had you in her sights and wanted you all to herself."_

_"So she paid ta have m' wife kelled 'n m' daughter chain raped?"_

_"I'm so sorry, Honey." There were advantages to having connections to a porn star who bought heroin from a Mayan. One of Luann's co-stars had overheard her dealer talking about an Indian Irish woman who'd paid him to set up a meeting between her and some of his club members, how it was the worst deal he ever did because seven of his buddies ended up dead. He hadn't even known what it was about at the time. But that bitch had scared the shit out of him._

"I was thinking about going to see Otto," she voiced as Chibs dropped the hood of the car closed.

"He can't see you," Chibs mentioned. She raised an irritated eyebrow to his back. He didn't need to see it to know it had happened. "But I think he'd like that." Turning around, he pulled the rag from his back pocket and wiped off his hands. "Ya should probably see Abel too."

"Yeah," she admitted. "There's a lot 'a people I need ta see."

"Looks jest like hes Da . . . personality like 'im too."

"Why does that no' surprise me?" she smiled. "I'm gonna head over there after I stop at Opie's." She jumped down from the tool bench she was sitting on, eliciting a metallic rattle that echoed through the garage.

"Ya want a ride?" he asked. "I could tak lunch early."

"Nah," she replied, placing her bookmark and closing the book. "Et's nice out; I can walk."

"Ya sure?" she was getting to the point where she was spending more time with Jax and Juice than she was with him, and as silly as it sounded, he was starting to get a little jealous. He'd missed his baby girl when she didn't come home from school.

"I'm sure, Da." She wrapped her arms around his waist and set her head against his chest. "I was thinkin' 'bout offerin' ta watch Ellie 'n Kenny en tha afternoons."

"I think that's a great idea," he shot back, nodding his assent. "I know Ope's been hurtin' sence Mary left."

"Es 'is new girl takin' over the producin' part now that Luann's gone?"

"Yep; she's hurtin' fer childcare now too."

"Well, shet; I could jest get a license 'n open up a club center," she laughed. He chuckled back at her and kissed her on the head.

"Ef et gets ta be after dark, you call me ta come get ya."

"Aye, Sir," she returned with a facetious salute and headed to put her book away.

_As much as Clay hadn't liked it, Caracara had been one of the most steady sources of income the club had ever known. So when things settled down a bit after dealing with Ethan Zobelle, and they'd safely recovered Abel from the Irish asshole who'd taken him, Clay had approved the rebuilding of the company. Lyla stood in the warehouse, looking over the final inventory. They were finally able to start shooting again. In the morning, the camera crews and cast would come in and get to work, and she would make her debut as a producer instead of a star. She was more than ready to give up being in front of the camera. Now that she had Opie, she had a reason to respect herself. This month would also be nearly half a year sober from the drugs. It had taken almost that long just to get everything together. Samcro had been hurting for money bad. If the other charters hadn't stepped up and loaned Charming some money, they might not have made it through the past couple of months. As it was, they were having club hang-arounds watch the kids while they both worked, and while Lyla was not really in any position to talk, she didn't like the idea of it. Yes, she'd been a porn star, but she'd also always made sure that Piper stayed out of it as much as possible. There was no reason he had to be mixed up in her job. But once they got fully up and running again, they'd be able to pay for proper child care. Though, admittedly, by the time that happened, Ellie might be old enough to watch the boys after school. For now, they would just have to play things by ear and keep doing the best they could... like they always did._

Sorcha didn't expect the kids to answer the door. "Oy," she called, surprising them. "God, you guys got big!"

"Aunt Sorcha!" Ellie called, pushing open the screen door and running into the redhead's waiting embrace.

"Hey, Kiddo," she smiled. Kenny followed suite, and Sorcha held them like she would never see them again.

"Aunt Sorcha," Kenny cried from her shoulder, "you're squishing me!" Chuckling, she let them go.

"Where's yer da?"

"Out back," Ellie answered.

"I'm gonna go talk ta hem fer a bet, okay?" They both nodded, looking slightly disappointed, and began heading back to the television show they'd been watching. Before he'd gotten five steps away, the young boy stopped and turned back around.

"Aunt Sorcha, are you going away again?" Kenny dared with a furrowed brow.

"No, Love; I'm home fer good thes time." He looked somewhat relieved and ran back into the living room to join his sister on the couch. Sorcha headed through the house and out the back door. She found Opie sitting at the patio table. Without asking his permission, she pulled out a second chair and sat down. "What's 'er name?"

"What?" Opie looked at her, startled and confused.

"Yer conflicted, Ope. And et's about a woman." She pulled a knee up to her chest.

"It's not a woman."

"Gev me a little credit, Harold Piermont. I know ya better'n ya think I do. 'N the only other time I've ever seen _that_ look on yer face 'as when ya wanted ta ask Donna on a date." He closed his eyes against the painful memory. Lyla was a godsend, but he still thought about the mother of his children more than he felt was fair to his new significant other. "It's natural," Sorcha continued. "Ya loved 'er, Ope; weth everythin' ya had in ya. Et's the only way ya know how ta love. 'N ya'll never quite find that again." She paused as he finally looked her in the eye. "But no one expects ya to. Ya have two kids in there that are a part of her. And yer defilin' her mem'ry by fergettin' that."

"What would you know about it?" he flared at her.

"Seein' as how I lost m' ma 'n was raised by a father in a bike club, quite a bet," she fired back. He sighed; she had him there. "Ope, no one's askin' ya ta do et alone."

"But I _am_ alone." She stood up and walked around behind him, wrapping her arms around him and setting her chin on his shoulder.

"No, yer not."

"And what happens when you go back to school?"

"Not goin' back," she answered succinctly. "I belong here." He reached up and laid a hand on her embrace.

"I'm just not sure what to do anymore. Lyla's great, but I don't know if what we're doing is fair to her."

"Yer never gonna find another woman like Donna," Sorcha stated, "unless ya do right by the lit'le girl ya got in that house. D'ya remember what I always used ta say about m' ma?"

"You mean that movie quote?"

She nodded and recited, "Ef the people we love are stolen from us, the way ta have them lev on es ta never stop lovin' them. Buildings burn, people die..."

"But real love is forever," he finished with her, acquiescing to her wisdom on the subject.

"I'm not sayin' gev up on Lyla. Jest find some time fer yer kids too, huh, Dearthair?" Grudgingly, he nodded. She was the one person still alive that he couldn't hide from. No excuse he could come up with or escape he could devise would ever work with her. She'd been in exactly Ellie's shoes. And when he thought about it, if losing Donna meant Ellie could grow up to be just like Sorcha, it made life without his wife seem just a little bit more bearable. "Now that we got that out 'a the way," Sorcha continued, "what d'ya think about me watchin' the kids after they get out 'a school while you 'n Lyla're at work?"

His heart leaped. He knew there was a reason he loved this girl. "We couldn't pay you," he put in hesitantly.

"Ded it sound like I asked fer pay?" she countered. "I'm jest bored. Da won't let me help at the garage, so I got nothin' else ta do."

"It would really help us, Spitfire."

"Good," she replied. "I'll start pickin' 'em up on Monday." She kissed his cheek and released him. "Love you, Ogre."

"Love you too, Pixie."

"Oh, by the way," she called over her shoulder as she headed back into the house. "They fecked up yer tattoo!" He chuckled to himself watching the door slide shut.

_Opie displayed his new ink proudly, and everyone admired it. "That's really cool!"s and "Awesome!"s abounded... at least, until Sorcha saw it. "They fecked it up," was her response._

_"No they didn't," he countered, confused._

_"Yeah they did," she insisted. "Either that or _you_ did."_

_"What are you talking about, Spitfire?"_

_"The poem goes: 'The center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."_

_"That was too long to fit on my neck."_

_"I don't care. Et's stell wrong."_

_"Well then, you're just gonna have to deal with it, 'cause now it's permanent." He wrapped an arm gently around her neck and pulled her in for an embrace. He pulled tighter as she fought to get away from him._

_"Ugh! Lemme go, you smell!"_

_Jax came to her rescue, pulling her out from under the burly man's arms. "She's right, ya know," he commented, setting Sorcha free and making sure she was steady on her feet._

_"I changed it on purpose!" He raised his voice a bit, now getting a little irritated._

_"No, I mean, you do smell," Jax shot back with a smile, causing Opie to chuckle in spite of himself._

There was plenty of daylight left as Sorcha said goodbye to Kenny and Ellie and headed for Jax's house. Jax and Tara were both at work, but Gemma was there watching Abel. The biker queen greeted Sorcha as though she and the younger girl shared blood; a warm embrace and a kiss on the mouth met Sorcha at the door. "I had some time, so I figured I'd come see the pipsqueak," she smiled.

"Absolutely," Gemma beamed back. "Come on in, Baby," the older woman closed the door behind them and lead Sorcha back to the little boy's room. Abel peaked up over the edge of his crib, cooing at the women as they entered.

"God, look at ya!" Sorcha exclaimed, lifting him into her arms. "How'd you get so big, huh?" He burbled an indistinct answer and smiled widely. Gemma smiled as she watched Sorcha play with her grandson.

"We'll never be able to thank you enough Spitfire."

"For what?" The redhead's brow furrowed in confusion.

"For him."

_Across the diner, Sorcha thought she recognized a man sitting at the counter. She approached him cautiously, finding that she was correct in her assumption. "Cameron?" Her father had introduced her to him months before, the last time she'd been home. He was a member of the True IRA and dealt guns to SAMCRO. What was he doing this far north?_

_"Sorcha," he replied, confirming that he recognized her as well. He looked exhausted and ragged._

_"Where's Edmond?" she questioned, surprised to see the man without his son. Cameron sucked in a breath and looked as though he might cry. Sorcha understood immediately._

_"Oh, Cameron," she soothed, wrapping her arms around the man. He accepted the embrace, ironic though it was. This girl obviously wasn't aware of everything that had happened in the past couple of days. He remembered that Chibs had mentioned her only checking in with him every few months. So for now, he allowed her to comfort him, sure that she hadn't been part of the events leading to his son's death. As she leaned over him, she caught sight of a baby in a car seat. There was a blanket covering him, but it slid down as the child squirmed, revealing the edge of a reaper decal on his onsie. _Abel. What have you done, Cameron?_ Standing back up straight, she gave no indication that she'd seen the child, let alone recognized him. "Are you hanging in there?" she asked. He took a ragged breath, and as he let it out, the child began to cry. Cameraon winced and bent down to lift him up. Sorcha laid a hand on his back to stop him and picked the baby up for him, keeping the blanket securely over him and cradling him on her shoulder. She rocked him back to slumber and sat down next to Cameron. "Leave it to Eamon to bring the baby over and leave the mother at home, huh?" she commented as though assuming the child was Edmond's now left to Cameron because he was dead. She hoped that using the Irish version of the man's name would help to put Cameron at ease._

_"Ma died," Cameron returned simply. "Car bomb in Belfast about two months ago."_

_"Oh, yer kiddin'," she gasped as realistically as possible. He was giving quite a decent performance. If she didn't know better, she might actually believe this was his real grandson._

_"I should let you get back ta yer friends," he said, somewhat hesitantly._

_"Don't worry about et," she shot back. "They'll never know I'm gone."_

_"Well, I've got ta go ta the bathroom anyway." He held his arms out to receive the baby, but Sorcha wasn't giving him back._

_"I don't mind," she responded innocently. "Go ahead; we'll be right here." He hesitated for a long moment, but eventually his bladder got the better of him, and he headed to the men's room. As soon as she was sure he was gone, she pulled her phone from her pocket and quickly sent a text to East Coast. "At Brown's Point on East Side Dr. Have Jax's son. Need back up quietly." She slid the phone back into her pocket after the message went through and knew it was only a matter of time before Sons started showing up. She just hoped they took her advice and didn't make a scene, otherwise she and Abel might get hurt._

"Anyone else would'a done the same," Sorcha replied.

"But no one else would have been able to pull it off," Gemma insisted.

"I'm sure Tara could have." Sorcha bounced Abel, making him giggle again.

"Tara's the one who got him lost in the first place."

"That's no' fair. If Cameron'd shot her, there'd 'a been no gettin' Abel back, _and_ we'd be buryin' two more people." Despite her bitterness, Gemma knew the young woman was right. She hoped against hope that someday Sorcha would be the Queen, or would at least help Tara be one. Being raised among the group gave Sorcha a distinct advantage when it came to diplomacy. Rules were as natural to her as breathing; they didn't need to be learned because they'd been ingrained in her from the day she was old enough to understand. She didn't question them the way Tara sometimes did. She also knew the men better than any woman before her, knew exactly what to say to get them to act or stay out of a fight, knew exactly how they would react to situations. She could be a very powerful young woman if she chose to wield it. If she truly stayed this time, as she claimed she would, she might even be able to begin teaching all the young girls of the club. Then maybe they wouldn't have the lack of Old Ladies that currently existed. After Bobby's wife divorced him and Luann was killed, they were down to Gemma, Tara, and Opie's new girlfriend Lyla. The rest of the women who hung around the Sons were sweetbutts, who weren't exactly worthy of the club's respect.

"I wish some of the guys had your head sometimes," Gemma mused. "Don't ever leave okay, Baby? They're gonna need you someday."

"Well, long as Juice stays active, don't plan on goin' anywhere," Sorcha shrugged back. Gemma's face lit up.

"You and Juice are back together?"

"Long as he can keep 'is cock in 'is pants with ev'ryone but me," she smiled.

"That's great, Baby." She pulled the younger woman into an embrace. "I'm really happy for you."

As Gemma let her go, Sorcha sighed. "I should get goin' 'fore et gets too dark out."

"Alright. You be careful, Baby."

"Always am."

_This was definitely Kara's forte. As the two girls entered the house, the blond let out an excited whoop. Sorcha's eyes scanned the room, finding her exits. Her right leg tensed, feeling the thin knife she'd slipped into her boot shaft before leaving. The redhead followed her roommate closely as the other girl made her way into the heart of the crowd. They stopped next to a table of people playing beer pong. Sorcha knew the game well, though she never played herself; it was a waste of time in her eyes. She'd grown up around people who played pool and darts while they got drunk. One didn't need a game to _get_ drunk. But she could still see how it might be a fun social interaction for the age group she was now among. "I'm gonna go get us some beers," Kara shouted over the din. "Stay right here so I don't lose you." Sorcha nodded, keeping her eyes on the game._

_She had almost figured out the house rules by the time the blond returned with a red plastic cup in each hand. Kara handed her a cup and took a long drink from her own. After a sip, Sorcha sniffed the contents and asked,"What es thes?" _

_"Beer," Kara responded kurtly._

_"What _kind_?"_

_"From a keg," Kara smarted back. "Does it matter?" Sorcha thought the beer tasted funny, but then it was fairly thin as well. Maybe it was just a really cheap brand. It had been a while since she'd drunk anything less than a Sam Adams. It was probably best to stop complaining and just let Kara have her fun for the night._

The sun was beginning to set, washing the street before her in a coral-colored took her time; she was in no hurry to get back to the clubhouse. It would probably be another few weeks before she moved out. It was still yet to be decided as to who she would live with. Tara still technically owned the house that had belonged to her parents, so there was always the possiblity of renting that. But whether it would be with her father, or actually starting a life with Juice was no where near set in stone. there was still the necessary task of collecting her things from the dorm room she shared with Kara as well. Sorcha was not looking forward to that at all. Taking some of the guys with her to help would ensure fewer questions from the curious blond, but she would not escape them entirely. And she certainly wasn't looking forward to setting foot in Tacoma again.

She wished there was a way to put things on hold, but in the coming week she would need to withdraw from school so that in the fall she could transfer down to a school closer to home or maybe even finish her classes online. There was a lot to think about in a short amount of time. She only knew for sure that she didn't want to leave again... didn't want to be in the same city as _he_ was anymore. She trusted the Tacoma boys and would miss them dearly, but her nerves just couldn't handle it. Besides, she would still see them at the various events they participated in throughout the year, and she was certain that Clay would have no problems with them visiting from time to time. A group of engines roared up from behind her, slowing down as they approached. She hoped it was some of her own boys, but there would be no such luck tonight.

"Ey, Mami!" a Spanish-accented voice called out. "Where you goin'? Everything you need is right here!" Heaving a sigh, she turned to face him, allowing her right arm to dangle and nonchalantly show off her tattoo.

"Actually, everythin' I need's back at the SAMCRO house runnin' numbers on shepments."

One of the Mayans froze. "Madre de Dios. Come on, Pedro; you don't want none 'a that."

"Why the hell not?" Pedro responded. "Looks good to me." She cringed as his eyes roved up and down her body, but she refused to show it.

"That's the one they call 'Spitfire.' The last time somebody messed with that pale rider, Hell followed." She met the gaze of the man speaking and dipped her chin. "It'd be best if you found an escort home, Chica." Without a word, she pulled her phone from her pocket. The first three numbers she tried proved fruitless. She wasn't about to leave a voicemail message; there wasn't time for that. Finally, she grudgingly thumbed through her contacts and hit the send button. On the third ring, a male voice answered.

"You busy?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not if you need something."

"I'm about four blocks from Jax's place. Three Mayans are tellin' me ta get a ride."

"Stay put; be there in ten." The phone clicked off, and she replaced it to her pocket.

"He said ten minutes. Happy now?"

"We'll wait with ya," the Mayan more commanded than offered. "Somethin' happens, we don't want it blamed on us." She sighed heavily, knowing that they wouldn't budge no matter what she said. True to his word, ten minutes later a fourth bike joined the pack.

"Alright, get the fuck outta here," he yelled at the rival club three pulled away, satisfied that they wouldn't have another shit storm come down on their club because of this girl. His demeanor softened a bit as he turned to her. "You okay, Spitfire?" She nodded, still trying to convince herself that she wasn't riled at being surrounded by three Mayans with nothing but her tattoo and a veiled threat for protection. "Come on." He motioned to his "bitch" seat.

She'd forgotten how solid her solid her Uncle Tig felt; she hadn't ridden with him since she'd gotten her tattoo. She settled herself on the seat and relaxed against him. Though he'd never say anything, Tig was relieved. He was afraid she'd never be okay around him again.

_Tig muscled back the lever into place, and Sorcha slid the serpentine belt off. "Set it over there, Babe. That way we'll be able to find it again." She laid the circular strip of rubber on the counter Tig indicated and returned just in time to catch the alternator that Tig birthed from the engine._

_"Ahh!" she squealed, not because of the grease, but because she hadn't expected it to be so fast._

_"Go trade Dog for one of the re-mans in the back," he chuckled. She nodded and trotted off, carrying the used part like an infant. She loved helping her uncles in the garage. Her mother wasn't keen on her little girl being a grease monkey, but there was little she could do to stop Sorcha, especially with Tig around. He always encouraged her love of engines. Though she'd probably never be able to fully diagnose one, Sorcha's twelve-year-old brain didn't do too bad when it came to remembering how to perform simple procedures. For a girl, she was a decent mechanic. He'd never thought of having kids of his own, but Sorcha was a really good substitude. All he had to do was make sure she didn't kill herself and then Chibs took her back at the end of the day. If more girls were raised like she was, he might actually get married someday. The redhead returned carrying the almost-new part just as she had its predecessor. On her tip-toes, she strained but still couldn't quite reach to put the part into place._

_"Uncle Tig," she whined. "Help." Instead of taking the part from her, he lifted her up high enough to install it herself. He wanted her to learn._


End file.
